Tuesday, February 26, 2019

Cover Reveal: Please Me by Lola StVil

I was a soldier on
leave when we meet at a bar, and I rescued her from some asshole who tried to
grab her. She shouldn’t have been there—she was just 19. She was innocent. She
was running away from a drunken father and a house that never felt like a home.
She wanted me to claim her but she was more than a one-night stand to me. So I
vowed to do right by her. I waited for her and then I proposed. My unit was
called back before I could truly make her mine. It’s been a year since I felt
her touch. But now I’m back and I have only one mission: Make my wife come hard
and as often as possible.

I am sitting at the bar drinking a slightly too warm bottle of beer. Even though the beer isn’t ice cold, it tastes like perfection. Being out in the middle of nowhere on a special ops assignment will definitely make you appreciate the little things in life. Even when they’re not as good as you remember them to be.

It’s kind of like Mission Beach. In my head, I remembered it differently than what it actually is. I remembered it as home, not real home, but somewhere I had happy memories. My mom used to bring me here every summer for a week, and some of my happiest memories were here. But can a place be home when you’re there all alone? Can it be home for Mac Kramer when no one here even knows his name?

Maybe not. The place is like a breeding ground for surfers, tourists, and students. I reckon I’ll be leaving here pretty soon even if I’m not called back to active duty before my time in the military is up.

I sigh loudly and turn on my barstool and scan the crowd. I hear a musical laugh, and my eyes are instantly drawn to the owner of that laugh. My cock stiffens in my jeans just looking at her. If all of the girls in Mission Beach were like her, I’d never ever want to leave the place. She has long blonde hair that hangs down her back in beach-ready waves. Sun-bleached streaks shine in the light. She’s clearly into surfing, judging by the short shorts and vest top she wears and the way the muscles in her fucking awesome legs are so toned. Her whole body is tanned, and I wonder where the tan lines are.

It’s not something to wonder in a public place because I instantly see myself tearing off that little top and throwing it away, taking in her breasts and pink nipples. I see myself pushing her shorts down and fucking her until she’s screaming my name. My cock gets harder, reminding me I’m in the middle of a bar. I pull at my shirt, covering my lap with it.

The girl looks across the room, and for a second, our eyes meet. I feel a jolt of lust run through me as I look into her eyes. They are the blue of tropical seas, and they have a certain twinkle in them that tells me she’s a little bit naughty. I bet she fucking is. And if she isn’t, I could soon show her exactly how to break the rules.

She smiles at me, and I nod in her direction, forcing my eyes from her body. Now she’s seen me looking at her, I can’t get caught again. She’ll think I’m some sort of pervert. For her, I could be. I could be anything she wanted me to be and then some.

I try to tell myself it’s because I haven’t had a woman in the eight months I’ve been away, but I know it’s not that. There’s something about the girl. Something mesmerizing. Something that tells me she’s exactly what I need to get myself out of this funk and give my life some sort of purpose outside of the military.

I signed up to the military on my eighteenth birthday. Anything to get out of that foster home. My mom raised me alone until I was fifteen and the big C took her. And then I went into the system. I ended up being placed with a family fairly quickly, and I stayed there until I was old enough to leave. It wasn’t that they were mean or abusive. They were the opposite. Warm and kind. They made me feel welcome, loved even, and I am so grateful to them for that. But it was hard to stay there and not love them back. And anytime I felt the slightest hint of love for them, I felt such terrible guilt. My mom was gone, and here I was moving on. Yeah, I know it’s crazy and not what my mom would have wanted, but I couldn’t help feeling it. Maybe I should have had therapy. I definitely should have had therapy.

My eyes go back to Blondie, and I reckon those long legs of hers wrapped tightly around my waist while I claim her pussy would be all the therapy I’d need. She’d sure as hell make me forget everything except her slender body and pert breasts. I’d be willing to bet that her pussy would be tight enough to squeeze my cock to within an inch of its life.

She’s turned away from me now, and I watch her for a minute longer. She’s sitting at a small table tucked away in the back of the bar. She should be on the fucking stage, not hiding herself away like that. She seems to be alone, the girl she was laughing with a moment ago gone. She runs her hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. I feel another twitch from my cock. I want my hands in her hair. I want to grab handfuls of it, pull it, force her to her knees where she’ll suck me dry. And then I want to ruin her. To fuck her so hard and for so long she won’t know which way is up when I’m done with her.

I debate going over there and asking to join her. I mean why not, right? She’s alone, I’m alone. We could share a drink or two, maybe a laugh, and then I could take her home and show her what that body of hers can really do.

Just as I’m getting off my stool, a man approaches her and sits down at her table. He shrugs apologetically, and she laughs. Fucking bastard. I don’t know where he’s been or why, but he left her sitting alone for far too fucking long. If I had been with her, whatever the fuck it was he was doing could have waited. She would have been more important than going to the bathroom or taking a call.

The level of animosity I feel toward the man is nothing compared to the sharp, icy fingers of jealousy that stab at me as I watch him reach out and touch her arm as they talk. How the fuck can I be jealous of someone I’ve never even spoke to? I don’t know, but I am.

I turn back to the bar. I don’t need to watch this any longer. I release my grip on my bottle when I realize I’m holding it tightly enough that it’s about to shatter in my hand. I down the rest of the beer and wave to the bartender for another one.

He obliges, and I thank him and take a long drink. This one is icy cold, much better than the first one, and I would be wholly satisfied now if it wasn’t for the fact I can hear her laughing. The bastard is making her laugh. It should be me. Is it her boyfriend? Husband? Just someone who took a chance on talking to a beautiful woman quicker than I did?

Whatever he is, the thought of him going home with her, holding her, kissing her, and touching her pussy fills me with rage. I want to claim that sexy mouth as mine. I want to be the one to make her come as I claim her pussy. I want to hear her screaming my name. It should be me, not that fucking Joe Nobody.

As much as I tell myself to let it go, I can’t do it and I find myself turning again, almost subconsciously. I feel a cold, empty feeling in my stomach when I look to her table and she’s gone. She’s gone home with the loser. He’s getting to be with her, and I’m stuck here in a bar alone.

I hear her laugh again and the hole is instantly filled, my heart soaring. I follow the sound with my eyes. She’s on the dance floor with the loser, who has two left feet. He scores higher than I do in that category though. There’s no way in hell I would dance in public. Oh, who am I kidding? If she asked me to, I’d be up there like a shot.

Watching her dance is like slow, agonizing torture for me. She sways her hips, showing off her pert ass. She puts her arms in the air and her vest top rides up just enough to show me a flash of her smooth back before it settles back down. I swallow hard, watching her as she turns and sways and moves to the beat.

The man reaches out and puts his hand on her hip. She twists her body away from him, shrugging off his hand without being completely obvious about it. This gets my attention. He’s not her husband or her boyfriend. His touch is making her uncomfortable. She’s not exactly pushing him away though. Maybe she’s just playing hard to get.

When I first saw the man sitting down, I placed him around thirty, but now I can see he’s closer to my age, twenty-three. He’s not acting his age though. He’s acting like a drunken high school jock as he reaches out for her hip again. She neatly sidesteps him and keeps dancing as though she’s oblivious to his advances.

Her sidestep brings her face-to-face with me, and I quickly take a long drink, hoping she didn’t catch me staring at her. I dare to look back. She’s looking at me, smiling. She caught me all right. I laugh a little as she watches me. She doesn’t seem in the least bit concerned about me watching her. She’s certainly no wallflower, not like that quiet table in the corner implied.

The man she’s with spots her smiling at me, and he gets his body between us. Dick. This time, he doesn’t just try to put his hand on her hip. He lunges forward and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her body against his.

Even over the music, I hear her telling him to get off her. I hear the fear in her voice and it sends a flare of anger through me. He ignores her, and my temper flares further. I slam my bottle on the bar and get up off the stool. He’s going to fucking pay for scaring her like that.

Lola StVil
is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who writes Fantasy in
addition to Contemporary romance. She has written over a dozen books and loves
taking her readers on an emotional roller coaster ride. She is currently living
in California and enjoys staying in touch with her readers.